I SHOULDN’T BE THROBBING FOR MY HUSBAND’S TATTOOED BROTHER WHILE I’M SICK AND MY HUSBAND IS HALF A WORLD AWAY

The fever is burning me up from the inside, but it’s not the sickness that’s making my thighs slick.

I’m curled on the couch in one of Ethan’s old t-shirts, the fabric stuck to my sweat-damp skin, when my phone lights up. His name. My husband. The man who’s been in Singapore for three weeks closing some deal that apparently matters more than me right now.

“Hey baby,” I croak, trying to sound normal. My voice cracks anyway.

“Fuck, you sound awful, Mia. I’m so sorry I’m not there.” Ethan’s...